The Four Trials
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: Dean hates spring for the rain, he hates summer for the heat, he hates fall for the sickness, and he hates winter for the cold. And yeah, he might not LIKE it, but at least he's used to the different weather. Who isn't? Castiel.
1. Chapter 1

**The Four Trials**

**1.**

Dean hated the rain.

Never had liked it, in fact, right down from the first time that he'd had to walk to school in it and he'd gotten splashed with with a mud puddle from a car zipping by. Not to say that there hadn't been a time where he hadn't found a perverse satisfaction from smearing mud across freshly washed windows, but a mud puddle made from the garden hose versus a mud puddle of rain that had been pounding down on the rooftop for an immeasurable number of hours? They were two totally different things.

Now, skulking down the almost abandoned sidewalk of a very rainy Oregon town, it was bringing all that disdain back and Dean could feel the nagging, gnawing pincers of being downright _pissed off_ scraping away at the back of his neck.

Dean shook water from his hair - he couldn't imagine being Sam right now, he just couldn't, dude looked like a chick with his hair so long, Dean thought, though chicks seemed to dig that long hair thing nowadays - and hunkered down as he rounded the corner.

Castiel raised his head as Dean rounded the corner. And then the rain didn't matter, it didn't matter that Dean was basically pissed off at the whole hunt, because Cas was still standing exactly where Dean had left him, in the pouring rain, on the sidewalk, and he looked pathetic.

Legit pathetic.

"... Did you _really_ stand here the whole time?" Dean asked as he re-joined him, squinting at him through the rain.

Castiel looked at him oddly. "You told me to stay here." He was completely drenched, beige trench coat turned dark, hair plastered to his head, and something similar to the traditional puppy-dog-eyed look Sam used to have sometimes.

Dean huffed a laugh. "You're soaking wet."

"So are you."

"Yeah, but..." Whatever pithy retort had been on his tongue fell away. At this stage in the game, he was pretty sure he didn't look _sultry and mysterious_ and he just looked pretty pathetic, like Cas. He sighed. "You didn't need to stand in the rain, that's all I meant."

"It's raining," Cas pointed out.

"Yeah, but you didn't have to stand out in it," Dean retorted.

"I don't have an umbrella."

The steady drip of cold rain down his back was replacing his humour at Castiel's appearance with the previous irritation. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, smartass. Let's just get the bus back."

Castiel fell into step beside him as they headed towards the bus stop. "This was an unfortunate time for the Impala to need repairs," he said.

Dean growled, air hissing out between clenched teeth. "Stop reminding me, Cas."

"Sorry."

"Using public transport," Dean muttered, jerking on the zipper of his coat, but it wouldn't go up any further. "I swear, this day could not _get_ any worse!"

Cas shifted, tugging at the wet sleeves of his coat. He looked uncomfortable. Hell, Dean was uncomfortable, too.

"Welcome to spring-time, Cas. It rains all the time. Well, I guess, welcome to Oregon because it rains pretty much all the damn time here, too, but..." he trailed off.

"... I have no positive response to that," Castiel said, blinking water out of his eyes.

Dean laughed dryly. "Yeah, well... just pull your coat over your head if it's bothering your eyes."

Cas looked over at him. "What?"

"Really?" Dean sighed. "Between you and Sam... I don't know, man." He grabbed Cas's shoulder to pull him to a stop, reaching behind to grab the collar of his coat. "It's like you two are still in diapers." He grabbed two fistfuls of Cas's coat and pulled it up over his head. "Here, hold that there."

Castiel blindly obeyed, staring out at Dean now from under the confines of his trench coat pulled up over his head. He looked a little bit like a lost puppy.

Dean couldn't help but smile wryly. "Human tricks of the trade."

"That's... good to know," Castiel replied, and Dean shook his head slightly as Cas pulled his coatbrella more firmly over his head to escape the rain.

**2.**

"Well. This sucks."

"Nothing online, nothing in the journal... huh."

"Ughhh. It's so _hot_," Dean complained, pushing to his feet to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. "I hate this friggin' Texas weather."

"It's hot everywhere this time of year, Dean," Sam muttered, but he slumped forward on his elbows to rub at his eyes.

"Well, it's a pain in the ass. I'm sweating like a stuck pig here."

"Wait a second..." Sam slid one of the newspapers close. "Hey, Cas... does this mean anything to you?"

Castiel glanced away from whatever he had been staring at - the wall, it looked like, Dean thought - and looked over at Sam. "What did you find?" He got to his feet. And then he stumbled. Mr. As Close to Perfection as it Got stumbled. Which was something that Dean had never had the pleasure of watching him do. And while it was always satisfying in a completely sane sort of way to think it hilarious when someone fell on their ass, Cas just didn't _look_ good in that second.

"Cas?" Dean abandoned standing in the open freezer door to cross the room, grabbing the fallen angel's shoulder. "Hey, dude."

Castiel swallowed - Dean leaned away reflexively, prepared for the worst - and reached up to grab Dean's wrist. "... Sorry," he said shortly, frowning. "I suddenly don't feel so well."

"You don't look good," Sam said. "Light-headed? Nauseous?"

"Both?" Cas said it like a question, like he wasn't entirely familiar with either of those things, but with the inkling of the idea that he _might_ be. Dean thought he was probably on the money with _both_, though.

"Okay, sit down," Sam said, taking Cas's other side. "Come on."

Dean caught the half-glance that Cas gave to Sam, that same look that Cas always gave to Sam, like he didn't know exactly what to think about him or what he should do with him in the same room. Dean understood the problem - well, the part that he _could_ understand in this huge clusterfuck that they were caught in - but sometimes he felt like he was the middle of a feud between Sam and Cas, a sort of demented Dean-sandwich between the two who weren't fighting because they _wanted_ to, but because something inexplicable had demanded it. (Although, to be fair, if he _were_ a Dean-sandwich... he would be _damn_ tasty.)

He tightened his grip on Cas's shoulder briefly, helping Sam help him over to the bed. "How you feeling?" he asked, once Cas had sank onto the bed and let go of Dean's wrist in favour of slumping forward to put his head in his hands.

"Light-headed," Cas replied, not looking up. "My stomach's unsettled. I feel... shaky," he said shortly, pushing his fingers back through his hair. "And hot."

"Have you been drinking enough?"

Castiel looked up at Sam. "What?"

"Drinking. Water, juice, whatever," Sam said. "It's summer, it's hot out, you need to stay hydrated."

Cas blinked. "I wasn't thirsty."

Dean sighed, standing up. "Cas." Cas looked up at him wearily. "What did I tell you about your human body needing more care than the angel vessel body part of you?" Dean grumbled, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and taking it back to Castiel. "Drink."

"That's not gonna help, Dean," Sam said, looking up. "I mean, it will, but if he's got heat exhaustion... we need ice, cold towels." He looked back at Cas. "Take off your clothes."

"Sammy," Dean interrupted. "I didn't know you swung that way. You learn new things about a guy everyday." He clapped Sam on the back as he stood.

"Very funny." Sam shrugged his hand off, the eyeroll practically audible. "I'll get some towels."

Castiel had just pulled his shirt off, hair flung up in a brunette mess, before he flopped backwards onto the mattress. He sighed heavily, putting his arm over his eyes. He looked... human. Probably felt it, too.

Dean sighed again, rubbing sweat from his temples. "Take care of yourself, Cas. Can't have everyone dropping like flies here. We've still got to figure out this damn case..." He shook his head, sinking onto the edge of the mattress. "_Ugh_. How can anybody _function_ when it's this hot? I _hate_ this weather," he repeated.

"I am inclined to agree," Castiel muttered without looking up.

**3.**

Castiel was shivering.

Dean was trying not to notice.

Dean was trying _really_ hard not to notice.

It wasn't that he didn't care, or some crap like that, but... dude. What was Dean supposed to do about it? It wasn't his fault that Cas didn't have, like, _winter_ clothes. Cas didn't even seem to know about the difference between the seasons and their varying temperatures. Dean _knew_ that he had only been a human for so long but... _really_, wasn't he supposed to take care of himself? God's angel and all? Ex-angel. Couldn't he figure out to wear layers?

Castiel shivered more.

Dean caught the motion from the corner of his eye. He sighed. "You _are_ allowed to complain, you know."

Castiel looked over at him. "What?"

"You're shivering."

"Yes," Cas agreed. "What's the correlation between shivering and complaining?"

"Seriously?" Dean shook his head. "Nothing, Cas. There's no relation."

"Correlation."

"Whatever," Dean retorted. "You know, it's fall. Almost winter."

"Autumn."

"What?" Dean asked.

"Autumn." Castiel looked back at him again. "I read that this season is called autumn."

"Fall," Dean retorted. "The leaves are falling. It's called fall."

"Autumn," Castiel said flatly.

"Cas," Dean started warningly. He was not about to have this autumn-fall technical shit conversation right now. Who called it autumn?

Whatever Cas was about to say didn't make it to his lips because the cold breeze that was blowing, the one that signaled winter being on its way, swept by and he shivered violently a second later. His lips twisted into a tight frown and his fingers dug more firmly into his arms.

"_This_ is why you need to pay attention to the weather forecasts," Dean muttered. "Look..." He glanced around them for a moment, looking for any sign that Sam was on his way back from conning the way out of the massive library fine they had racked up. "If anybody asks, you begged me."

"Begged you for what?" Castiel asked.

Dean unwound his scarf from around his neck - he didn't like these things to begin with, they were way too feminine, but the strangulation bruises on his neck from the last attempted murder on their last hunt weren't totally healed yet - and leaned over to loop it around Castiel's. Cas didn't look surprised by the exchange, but then he never did. Dean quickly wrapped it around Cas's exposed throat before leaning away, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

"Learn to dress for the seasons," he griped.

Castiel's fingers brushed against the knit fabric of the scarf, which was no doubt warmed by Dean's skin. "Your strangulation wounds are not fully healed, Dean."

Dean shrugged. "We're heading home as soon as Sam gets his ass out here. And if anybody notices," he said, pulling his coat collar up around his neck, "I'll let them think I'm into some kinky ass stuff. Huh?" He grinned.

Cas just looked back at him in that typical Cas way, but then he nodded. "Thank you."

Dean rolled his eyes, looking away. "Just a scarf, Cas, not a million dollars."

"My neck is already infinitesimally warmer," Castiel replied. His bare fingers curled into the trailing ends of the scarf and stayed there, clinging onto the fabric like it was something more important than a measly winter scarf.

"Yeah, whatever..."

"Hey!" Sam jogged up, giving them a double thumbs-up. "Got out of the fine, managed to sneak the books back onto the shelves... hey, why are you wearing Dean's scarf?"

Dean stiffened.

Castiel didn't look away from Sam. "He gave it to me because I begged for it." Monotone. Literally in the flatest tone that _flat_ emotionally knew how to be.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Really?" He looked at Dean.

Dean held up his hands. "Yep."

"He _begged_ for it? _Cas_?"

Dean glanced at Cas from the corner of his eye. Cas met his gaze unblinkingly.

"Yeah, what can I say?" Dean said, looking back at Sam. "It's cold." Sam gave him a traditional _I-don't-believe-your-BS_ look, but Dean brushed it off. "So, let's _go_ back to the _hotel_ before we _all_ freeze," he continued.

Sam just smiled, that coy, little sly smile that annoyed Dean to no end. "Yeah, okay."

"Just go get in the car, dude," Dean ordered, looking around at Castiel. "You, too. We'll put the heat on and crank up the radio."

Castiel nodded again. "Sounds agreeable."

Sam just laughed at them as he headed to the car.

**4.**

"It's so freakin' cold," Dean muttered, shivering as he unlocked the door. "I hate winter."

"You said you hated summer a few months ago," Sam remarked.

"Yeah, well, I'd kill for summer right now," Dean grumbled, throwing his coat off. He almost threw it onto the couch before he realized that the lump on the couch wasn't blankets or clothes, but in fact Castiel curled up and fast asleep. "Well. I guess he got bored waiting up on us."

Sam laughed softly, turning away. "Yeah, I guess. I'm going to shower and then I'm following his lead. I'm beat."

"_I'm_ cold," Dean muttered.

"Go to bed," Sam said, closing the bathroom door behind him.

"Go to bed," Dean muttered under his breath. "I want a hot shower, too, you know, Mr Hog the Hot Water." He sank onto the bed with a sigh, just about to fall backwards when Cas shifted on the sofa.

The former angel's arm fell off the sofa and, in the few inches of arm that was visible - did Cas grow or something? Or did Sam just shrink their clothes again? - Dean could see goosebumps. Maybe it was more forsakenly cold than Dean had thought.

"Really, Cas?" he muttered, pushing himself back to his feet with a grunt. He grabbed a blanket from the bed and shook it out, draping it around Castiel's body.

Motions remembered; he always used to do that for Sam, too, when Sam had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for dad to come home. But it was different then, when they were kids, and Dean would just haul Sam's scrawny little ass into his arms and carry him the five feet over to one of the beds in whatever slummy motel they happened to be staying in.

Of course, Dean didn't do that now, and he certainly didn't do that with an ex-fallen angel.

Because that was weird. They were grown-ass men.

Still, he grabbed Cas's arm and tried to put it back on the sofa without waking him up. But, of course, Cas shifted and rolled onto his side, fingers curling around the old, worn fabric of the blanket. Only the slightest sliver of blue peered up at Dean seconds later.

"... Dean...? What's happening?"

Dean sighed, straightening up. "Nothin', Cas. Go back to sleep."

Castiel blinked sleepily, mumbled something unintelligible, and pulled the blanket a little bit closer. Dean was pretty sure he was out before he could have even counted to ten.

He watched Cas for a moment longer. How did they end up with this one, anyway? He'd gone to Hell and one of the Lord's very own had pulled him back out, only to get himself knocked from Heaven and turned into a living, breathing human. And now? Now said ex-angel was curled up on the couch in their shared motel room, because that didn't look weird, three guys in one motel. Not that Dean wouldn't be up for a threesome if the circumstances allowed, but Sam and Cas? If only they were a _Sam_antha and a _Cas_sandra, then that would be one _really_ awesome shared motel room...

He shook his head quickly, shaking himself out of his reverie. He turned away from Cas's sleeping form and went back to the bed, falling face-first onto the mattress.

What a day.

No, scratch that. What a life.

Castiel snored somewhere behind him.

Dean stifled a dry laugh and reached for a blanket to pull over his head.

* * *

><p><strong>I have an obsession with writing about seasons, alright? Anyway, I'm only on Season Five, so the characterisation might be a bit futzy. I don't know human!Cas yet... and I already love him. Head onto the next chapter for an alternate Fall chapter.<strong>

**PLEASE NO SPOILERS****for Season Five onwards.**

**I do not own _Supernatural_. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Alternate

**+ 1 Alternate Autumn.**

Cas sniffed.

_"I think if we go in that way, we should be able to get by without getting noticed."_

Another sniff.

"That's assuming that the guards are on the schedule that that puny ass officer told us about."

Sniff.

_"Well, I trust him. We don't have much of a choice."_

"Yeah, tell me about it. Story of our lives."

Cas sneezed.

Dean flinched. "Are you freaking kidding me, man?!"

_"What?"_

Castiel rubbed his nose. "I think I've acquired a cold."

"Great. Can't you, I don't know, hold it in?" Dean watched in almost slo-mo as Cas opened his mouth to respond and then stopped. "Don't sneeze on me!" he demanded, grabbing the motel-issued-box-of-tissues and flinging them across the table at Castiel.

He intercepted the box gracefully, plucked a tissue from it, and sneezed it into the thin paper.

"... Bless you," Dean said dryly.

_"Is that Cas?"_

"No, I brought home a dude."

_"Ha. Ha. Is he sick?"_

Castiel sniffed somewhere behind Dean's left ear.

"Blow it!" Dean ordered, pressing his phone more firmly against his ear. "I guess he is. He's been sniffling all afternoon."

_"Mmm, well, colder temps and all that. It _is _flu season."_

"Oh, I forgot about that." He glanced over at Cas, who crumpled up the tissue he was holding. "Stay away from me."

Castiel frowned. "Is it very contagious?"

"What? The flu? Uh, yeah."

"Oh." Cas stood there unmovingly for a moment before grabbing another tissue. "It could also be allergies, but I'm not sure on the details. What are the symptoms of the flu?"

"Ugh. I'll call you back, Sammy."

_"Yep. I'll be back later. Hold down the fort."_

Dean dropped his phone onto the table, turning to Cas. "You feel bad?"

Castiel shrugged. "Not particularly. My nose seems to be clogged, although it's still running. I've been sneezing. My throat's kind of scratchy." He looked at Dean expectantly. "Is that the flu, or is that allergies? I'm not very educated on either topic."

And did he look like he was? They pretended to be doctors every now and then, but it wasn't like he was qualified to make _real_ diagnosis. Diagnosis? Diagnosises? What was the plural of diagnosis? _Was_ there a plural form of it?

"Dean?" Castiel prompted.

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, Cas. The only flu I've ever had was the stomach one and that's some nasty shit," he said seriously. "But normal flu's like a cold... but then that can be like allergies, too, and a lot of allergies hit like a mo-fo in the fall."

Castiel was still staring at him expectantly.

"... Well, _I_ hope it's allergies," Dean said. "I mean, if you aren't feeling shitty in between time, it probably isn't the flu, but the other symptoms could probably come on still..."

The blank look on Castiel's face didn't smooth out. "This isn't helping me," he said. He really could be a blunt little shit sometimes.

"Okay, fine. Look, here." Dean crossed the room, grabbing Sam's duffel. "Sam's probably... yeah, look, allergy meds. Take this, see if it helps, if not, we'll go from there." He threw the box to Cas. "Alright?"

"... Yeah, sure. I guess." Castiel flipped the box around to read the instructions.

Dean huffed and ran his fingers back through his hair. He'd have to look up treatment for the flu... just in case.


End file.
